Stone Cold
by 3hunna
Summary: Polls are open, swords are sharpened, canons are ready, and the 63rd Hunger Games are ready to commence. (This is a closed SYOC.)
1. Prologue-Part 1

_Keep those tributes coming! The preview will start rolling when I get the final few._

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Carley Rattegin - The Capitol, night before the Hunger Games begin.

Unbelievable. Absolutely ridiculous. I hate my parents, they ruin everything. I am missing the party of the _millennium_ just because I'm only 16? Furious is an understatement. I had come home from school, which was _totally_ lame. I mean, I just wanted to go home and do my hair in this elegant yet effortless District 2 wrap, ya know? Plus my cute Ancient Panem History teacher wasn't even there today so I had no cute boys to stare out the last half hour of my day, but that's beside the point.

I came home with Georgianna _thinking_ I was going to get ready for the night of my life, but my parents, the spawn of District 13 itself, said **I wasn't old enough to go party downtown?! UGH!**

Currently, I was bawling my eyes out and my most expensive makeup off. Georgianna put her arm around my shoulder and brushed a strand of my electric blue hair behind my surgically elongated-ear just as my father walked in.

"Sweet-pea," he moaned. "I'm so sorry. It's just, I'm the Head Gamemaker and I can't be worrying about you with the Games so close-" my wailing increased tenfold. "-but I promise I can make it up to you, I swear!" This makes my tears stop abruptly.

I push my lower lip out and my eyes as doe-like as possible. If I was going to miss something awesome, I was going to get something just as awesome in return, okay? Father sighed and took Georgianna and I into his extravagant home office.

"Would a sneak preview of this year's tributes dry those tears?" He mused.

Georgianna's mouth dropped in like the same _second_ as mine. If anyone, like, _ever_ found out we'd seen something like this, I don't even know what would happen! The large screen which covered the nearest wall lit up and, with a few keystrokes from my dearest daddy, a video began to play…

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_The available tribute spots are on my profile page! I think I need 9 more. Happy Hunger Games and May, like, the Odds Ever Be in Your Favor._


	2. Prologue-Part 2

_Here are your tributes everybody! It's a little long, but I tried to give everyone a fair moment to shine._

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The boy from District 1 walks in the training room, his ashen blonde hair messy, boredom and indifference coating his handsome, 16 year old features. He heads to the archery station and, after picking a suitable bow, fires with deadly accuracy into the training dummies. After several minutes of this, he turns unexpectedly and fires directly behind him and skewers a dummy in the head from 30 meters away. He switches to the axe station and requests a sparring partner. They fight for a while, and the boy even "kills" him a few times, but it is clear that he favors his arrows. He is dismissed and swaggers away.

D1, CAERO DONEVEN - 9

A classically beautiful, curvy girl of 18 enters the training center, a smile on her lips. She gives a wiggle-wave with her fingers at the game makers and I hear someone behind the camera shift in their seat. The girl from District 1 heads to the knife station, picks up a handful of blades and starts throwing them. Her smile is gone, and a look of hardened concentration coats her features as she throws knife after knife as hard as she can, hitting hearts and stomachs and the occasional head. After about a dozen throws, she shakes her long, blonde curls and laughs while slightly posing. She turns and leaves the training center with 10 minutes left.

D1, ROSELLA VIPOND - 8

One of the largest boys I've seen in the games period walks into the room, his 18 year old body's muscles rippling even through his shirt. He jogs briskly over to the spears and picks one. He throws with all his might and lands a shot straight through the farthest dummies torso. A second follows a few moments later, only this one embeds itself in the dummy's neck. He grabs a training spear, whose sharp end is removed, and requests two sparing partners, both wielding unsharpened swords. He spins and successfully disarms one with a kick from his powerful feet and sends him flying with a fist to the jaw. He ducks his second assailants chop to the head and hits him hard in the chest with the unsharpened end of the spear. With the wind knocked out of the swordsman, he flips his weapon around and "stabs" him in the chest. Just as he turns to finish his other opponent, the game makers call time and he is dismissed.

D2, PAROQUE CALDERA - 11

A tall, athletic, black-haired girl enters and, after giving a courteous nod to the gamemakers, heads to grab a sword. After picking a blade, the 16 year old gets a sparring partner and sets to work battling him. She is clearly experienced. She delivers several horrendous slashes at her combatant which cut his shirt but not the protective armor he wears. Legs, arms, sides, gashes are everywhere. He parries one blow and tries an over head, downward chop. She coolly slides to the side, smashes her elbow into his face, and sticks her blade firmly into his stomach plate. She kicks him down as she removes the weapon and he stays there, scared stiff. She then goes to the spear throwing station. She throws with powerful accuracy at about 25 yards and dummy after dummy falls victim to her. The Gamemakers dismiss her when her time is up and she leaves quietly.

D2, MORGAN AIDA - 10

The 18 year old who stomps in next is very large with bland features and a particular stubby nose. He is unsure of what to do for a second, but settles on lifting some fairly heavy weights for a while. He then shakily selects a mace and challenges the instructor. He takes a few wild swings. He is inexperienced, but the power behind his attacks is pretty great. The instructor wrestles his weapon from him and he is dismissed. He is panting and very loudly walks out with an awkward smile.

D3, ULURO PIEZE - 7

The very small girl that enters next is very pretty. Her long, near white hair is tied into a neat braid and takes small, orderly steps to the knot tying station and, after several minutes, creates a satisfactory trap which would leave a competitor dangling by the feet. However, her counterweight isn't heavy enough and the instructor who springs the trap has his legs pulled just enough to send him to the floor. He is dazed but very much still alive. The 16 year old girl heads to the survival station and spends the rest of her time making a fire. Her thin frame and hair sways attractively as she walks away.

D3, ROXANNE WILDER - 4

The next to walk in is the extremely tall and lanky 17 year old boy from the fishing district. He walks to the spears with a cold, arrogant expression on his face and throws them around for a while, not able to hit the farthest dummy, but every other throw is deadly. He spends the other half of his time at the hand to hand combat station. He is thin, but uses his height and strength to pin his opponent in a minute flat. He makes to let the instructor up, but takes a step back and delivers a wicked kick to his head leaving him unconscious. The Gamemakers dismiss him and he laughs while he walks out.

D4, HARKON JAX - 9

The next girl to walk in does so on a set of strong legs and has very long, brown hair and freckles. She grabs a spear and heads to the obstacle course and requests a trainer to start on the opposite end and meet her in the middle. The 17 year old sets off, effortlessly managing the jumps and obstacles at her station and, after closing the distance between them, she stabs at the trainer. He ducks under her jab and knocks her off her feet, causing her to drop her weapon. He makes to grab her but she rolls away before he can pin her to the ground. She retrieves her spear and barks "Run!" He turns and heads the way he came, fast as his legs can take him. She aims at her target and hits him in-between the shoulder blades at 10 yards. She looks at the game makers to see their reaction and they wave her out, having seen enough.

D4, DESTINY VALENTINA - 9

The boy who walks out next is 18 and nearly as big as the boy from 2. His thick eyebrows arch into a questioning raise and the Gamemakers tell him he has 15 minutes to show them what he can do. He nods his head and goes to lift weights. He spends most of his time lifting (even takes his shirt off halfway through) the same measly weight. While he is strong, the Gamemakers are not too impressed at his boring display. He flashes his most charismatic smile and shoots a finger gun at them as he is dismissed.

D5, ELLIOT PETROVA - 4

The next girl to walk out, the first 15 year old, is short and tanned. Her brown hair is pulled into a tight ponytail and bobs as she sets to climbing the 50 foot rock wall. She makes it nearly to the top before her hand slips and she falls. Her safety harness lowers her down and I see that her cheeks are very red. She goes to the edible plants table and separates the poisonous plants from the edible ones just fine, but she mistakes two deadly bugs for okay ones when she goes to the edible insect area. She starts walking to the obstacle course, but her time is up.

D5, KARA JOHNSON - 3

The short, strawberry blonde 15 year old from 6 is next. His very pointed and shrewd features look nervous. He goes to the rope climbing station and successfully shimmies his way to near the top and slides slowly down. He does the same on the large faux-tree at the far end of the training area. He then requests the trainer at the archery station to shoot at him from across the room. The trainer goes easy on him at first but let's everything loose when he sees the boy climbing down the tree, avoiding every shoot. It's not until he's 10 feet off the ground when the instructor finally puts a training arrow on his back. The boy shakily climbs down the rest of the way, breathing hard, and leaves the center.

D6, FEVIN MORSON - 6

The next to enter is a melancholy 14 year old girl with short, dark hair. She heads straight to the camouflage station and starts turning herself into the jungle scene which is set behind her. She squints her eyes in concentration as she applies leaves to her arms. After 10 or 12 minutes, she is satisfied with her work and stands in the trees, eyes closed. The girl has all of the colors right, but the texturing on her skin reads more pine-y and less of the smooth trunk she attempted to recreate. The Gamemakers tell her thank you and tell her to go. Her sad, heavily lidded eyes watch the ground and she leaves muddy footprints behind as she walks out.

D6, DAWN CORTO - 5

The curly, red-haired boy from District 7 walks in quickly and heads to the knife station. He has a weird condition, some sort of tick, and has to ask the instructor twice before the man understands that he wants to spar. They go at it and the 16 year old does well for someone not trained. His body isn't muscular, just a little toned, and he's just as tall as the adult male he fights. However, after a few minutes, he has yet to successfully finish the instructor. Just as he seems to get the upper hand with a hearty slash to the chest, the boy twitches and his knife flies out of his hand. The trainer tackles him and they wrestle about for control. When it's clear that this fight is going nowhere, the Gamemakers release him and he walks out slowly, giving the occasional random jerk.

D7, CROIX HAIL - 8

The 14 year old girl who's next is the smallest tribute yet. With her dark skin and long black hair in two braids, she gives the impression of some sort of plant. She heads to the horizontal bars which hang ten feet over the ground and crosses them easily. She runs over to the rock wall and climbs fifteen feet up on the far side and jumps straight on to the obstacle course. She lands wobbly and, what she lacks in size, she makes up for in how quickly she crosses the course. She stumbles twice, but recovers fairly efficiently. With nothing left to show, she bows and then zooms out of the big double doors, a smile on her face.

D7, IZZY MELCHIOR - 3

The boy out next is taller than the last girl, but just as thin. At 17, his collar bones are very prominent and his hair is messy and brown. He sweeps through the edible plant station quickly, getting everyone right. He then goes to throw some knives. He is no master, but he does okay. He can put a knife in every dummy at 5 yards, but about half of the blades stick out of arms and legs. He picks a machete from the sword station and swings it around for a while, but it's pretty basic stuff. He rolls his eyes as he skulks out.

D8, DRAISE KINGEN - 6

The 17 year old girl walks out next. She seems about average height, but her scrawny arms and legs make her look tiny. Her blonde hair is short and messy and freckles adorn her cheeks and nose. She goes to the knot tying station and sets out a very complex snare. As she's nearing the 15 minute mark, she's left with a device that swings down two knives forcefully into a dummy's chest. A female voice calls out "thanks sweets" and she is dismissed.

D8, GENEVIEVE KNIGHT - 7

A 13 from District 9 is next, and he walks in quietly. He shakes his blonde curls and I can't help but think how odd he looks; big ears, small nose, stubby arms. He goes to the one remaining punching bag and hits it for a while with no finesse or power. He switches to the survival area and spends his remaining time attempting to light a fire. The Gamemakers dismiss him and he leaves, unaware of the lame impression he has left.

D9, ZEKE HOLLOWAY - 2

The tall, slender young woman from District 9 walks in. She is 15 years old and obviously pretty, what with her long, red curls and blue eyes. She walks to the knife station and I hear a Gamemaker sigh. She hears it too and changes course to the axe area, sensing the knife station has been a hot spot with the tributes. Strong for a girl her age, she wields the cumbersome weapon well, but her swings are a little simple and lack the killing force they need. She grunts in exertion and I can tell she is getting tired after a while. She decides to go to the survival station and she quickly lights a fire with only a few matches. With five minutes left, she goes to the knife station and shows off her combat skills. She's fast and her blows ring true when they strike the instructor's armor. Knives suit her more, but the Gamemakers are unimpressed. Her time runs out and she nervously bites her lip before leaving.

D9, ELIZABETH SKYFALL - 6

The geeky looking boy from 10 walks in next, a solid 16 years old. He would look emaciated even next to the poorest citizen of Panem. He pushes his spindly glasses up his nose and briskly walks to the obstacle course. He starts very strong in the beginning but is exhausted and slowed by the end of it. He goes to the sword station and cuts a few dummies, but I see the instructor wrinkle his nose at the starving boy's form. He leaves his sword in a dummy's chest and slowly walks out of the training room.

D10, TYR FORE - 3

Walking timidly in next is a large girl of 18 with long, tawny hair hanging over one shoulder. She goes to the sword area and pulls a particular exotic blade; a sickle. She requests a sparring partner and I'm impressed with her strength and power once they start. The sickle looks a little awkward slashing back and forth, but she handles it well and lands blows while avoiding her partner's attacks. Finally, she hooks it underneath his left arm, right where his heart would be, and hits him straight in the face with her forehead. Not very lady like, but you couldn't deny the results. The game makers release her and she walks out with only a large red bump above her eyebrow and a bloody lip.

D10, EUPHRASIE REHIA - 9

Walking out next was another large 17 year old. Dark skin and black hair frame his otherwise soft features. He goes to the survival station and lights a fire after several long minutes. He then passes the edible plant station without batting an eye. I keep expecting him to go pick up a sword or a spear, but he avoids the combat stations. He heads to the weights and lifts the largest amount of any tribute yet. His muscles pop out and a vein in his neck is very prominent as he lifts more and more. He gets up and, unsure of what to do next, starts to walk towards the exit. He looks over his shoulder a few times wondering if a Gamemaker will stop him or something, but he makes it out the door without any interruption.

D11, CRISTANO LERETTE - 6

Following her partner, a pretty dark skin girls enters confidently. She has long eyelashes, dark hair and big, full lips pulled back into a smile. She looks a lot older than 15, but that's her real age. She throws some spears and knives around, ordinary at best, before switching to the rock wall. She makes it all the way to the top and sits on the edge for a moment before jumping down. She is halfway through checking a berry at the edible plant station when her time is up. She gives a slight wave of acknowledgment and leaves without pause.

D11, HAZEL JACKSON - 7

A scrawny boy of 17 enters and heads to the camouflage station. A new, urban scenery is his inspiration and he sets off using grays and blacks to disguise is thin face and torso, coats his unkempt black hair in some gross looking goo. He even throws a ripped plastic bag around his shoulder to mask is arm. But when presenting his work, I see a few fleshy spots peak out around his ankles. I hear a game maker scribble something off-screen and shift around restlessly. The boy then heads to the archery station, collects a bow and fires at the nearest dummy. His first two shots miss but, after adjusting his stance and hold on the bow, his third buries itself deep into the dummy's lower abdomen. He is dismissed and leaves the training center quickly.

D12, RILEY TOMLINSON - 4

Last, but not least, is a tiny 12 year old from the coal district. She smiles to reveal small, crooked teeth and walks her tiny little legs to the survival station. She attempts to build a fire, but gives up half way through and hurries over to the edible plant station, anxiety all over her young face. She gets most of the plant foods correct but mistakenly explains that the juice from a poisonous vine is great for burns. Several people groan and she is immediately sent away. She tries not to cry as she scurries out of the room.

D12, TASHA MARINO - 2

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_Sponsorship info! You can, if you wish, choose to sponsor a tribute! As long as that tribute is alive, you can only send items to that __**one**__ tribute. The only exception is if that tribute forms an alliance with others, in which case you can send gifts to any in that alliance. If your tribute dies, you can choose to sponsor a new tribute and keep the points you already have._

* * *

_You can gain points by doing the following:_

_1 point - Every review you write will earn you a point (1 review per chapter)._

_2 points - A plot suggestion (mutt, feast idea, alliance suggestion, etc) that I end up using! Ideas for my other story, _Blood Spilt _*shameless self promotion*, will also earn you 2 points in this category._

* * *

_You can buy the following with points:_

_3 points - Small items such as a single roll, small bottle of water or a knife._

_5 points - Medium items such as bigger meal items, medicines and more deadly weapons._

_7 points - Large items such as spears, swords, axes and whole meals._

_9 points - Novelty items such as tridents, a bow w/ arrows and deadly poisons._

_Message me if you want to know how much something would cost!_


	3. Cannon Fodder-Chapter 1

_Let the games commence..._

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**Tyr Fore (District 10)**

I step on to my launch pad and start to feel a nervous sweat break out above my brow. What will this arena entail? Whether it's a barren wasteland or icy tundra, one thing's for sure; it'll be cold. The thick pants and coal-gray, insulated jacket I received just minutes ago confirm this. I remember how it never got to be any worse than "warm" back home in 10. The livestock most people helped to raise were more suited to high temperatures, so I've never really experienced actual freezing temperatures. I think about the rolling warm air and then remember where I am, or rather, where I was about to be. Reminiscing about home was preferable to the death zone only yards above my now moving platform, I guess. My head breeches the hard ground and I swear.

I was right. The instant my thin body reached the surface, the wire frames of my glasses nearly froze to my spindly nose. I rub my nose and ignore the unfamiliar shiver that rolls through my spine and take in my surroundings. We tributes stand on a small clearing in a cold, bleak wood. Over my shoulder, I see the tell-tale peak of a mountain and a thinner section of pines and evergreens leading to it. The woods are thick and daunting in every other direction. The ground is covered in early morning frost, but I wouldn't bet a home-grown, roasted pig ear that the Gamemakers didn't have a monstrous snow machine already cranked up to "high" somewhere in the sky. The gong rings out and I run into the bloodbath, straight for the only thing that could give me a chance to survive here: a jacket.

I take off and my sluggish feet work their way towards a crisp, blue back pack, twenty yards from where I stood.

_There's probably some choice stuff in there_, I think.

A _fast_ girl career, from 4 I think, zooms by me and dives straight into the twenty-foot high mouth of the cornucopia before I even reach my chosen supplies. The fighting begins right as I reach the bag and I look up to see the girl from 2 and the boy from 5 clang swords with one another, as well as a pair of smaller boys fighting near the mouth of the horn. All around me people are running and yelling and crying already.

Time to go. I slip on my prize and turn to run back to my mountain, spying a jacket on the outer rim. I only manage a few steps before someone sets me in their sights; the girl from District 1. More specifically, the blonde haired vixen clutching a handful of knives from District 1- but that's a mouthful. I turn and feel an incredible searing pain as one of her blades meets me calf. I call out and fall, but she's there before I hit the ground. I can see her playful smile when she pulls my head back. Then I feel her knife in my throat and I know I'll never feel the warm winds of home blow again...

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**Morgan Aida (District 2)**

The boy from 5 falls, clutching his bloody stomach and I turn my attention elsewhere. Our fight has taken up a few minutes, a significant chunk of time in the cornucopia bloodbath, and I survey the scene. Harkon from 4 trots just beyond the edge of the clearing, in pursuit of a dark shadow of tributes, Caero of 1 is retrieving a pair of arrows from a still moaning boy nearly twice his size and I hear a small voice's scream cut off under Paroque's, the boy from the same district as me, spear. I don't see Rosella but I know she must be nearby. We're doing well for just five of us (the girl from 4 made it clear that she was not interested in joining us), but only a handful lay slain around me. We have a long night ahead of us.

"Damn Dist-er-rict 2," a high soprano called from behind me. Rosella. She was horrible and annoying and currently surveying the large boy shaking whilst clutching the lethal gash severing his stomach in two. The only reason _Rose_ (she insisted everyone call her that) wasn't lying right next to him was her knife skills, but even still, I loathed the extra syllable she added in between "diss" and "tricked," making my home land sound just as childish and stupid as she was. "We should call you Morg, with an extra U-E. You know, 'cause…" she gestured to the now dead boy.

I grimaced, which she took for a smile.

I left Rosella to straighten her freshly trimmed bangs in the reflection of her knife and circled the cornucopia in search of other victims. There were none to be found. Coming around the opposite side, Rosella, Caero and Paroque were talking about coats when Harkon came back into sight. He carried a bloody spear in one arm and a red soaked sleeve on the other.

"Stupid little…" he snarled, kicking over a crate and searching for a medical kit. "I caught up to the pair from 11 and that _w__itch _did this-" he pulls up his sleeve and reveals a long cut across his forearm. It probably looks worse than it actually is, but I don't say anything. I catch Caero rolling his eyes. "-the second I caught up to her and her friend." Paroque picks up the roll of gauze and roughly wraps it around the wound. Harkon tells us that she ran off before he could finish her, but her District partner "wasn't so lucky" with a spine-chilling smile. Harkon stalks off, muttering something unintelligible and Rosella throws her arm around me saying she _cannot_ wait to comb through our bounty in search of some dry shampoo…

* * *

Night has just fallen in the arena, snow has begun to sweep through the chilly air and Panem's Anthem begins to play. The faces of the eight dead roll in as the remaining sixteen living tributes watch in fear and apprehension. First is the boy from District 3, followed by both the male and female tributes from District 5. Next is the girl from 7, the boys from Districts 9, 10 and 11 and, finally, the girl tribute from 12.

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_Who are you guys rooting for? Who do you hate? Feel free to start earning points and sponsoring tributes! Also, feel free to make POV/alliance suggestions (you get points guiseeee). I'll probably do at least two perspectives per chapter, seeing as there's so many living tributes._


	4. Living to Die-Chapter 2

_As always, enjoy!_

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**Destiny Valentina (District 4)**

My eyes leave the sky as the small face of a 12 year old from District 12 disappears forever and I allow myself to feel the ache in my legs after the hours spent traveling. I have no way of knowing for sure how far I am from the other tributes, but I feel relatively safe for the moment. That is, until snow starts dumping from the sky or wild cats appear to skin me alive or something like that, but for now I think the Capitol is satisfied with the amount of bloodshed they've seen. My stomach turns at the thought and my mind takes me back to the cornucopia.

I trained for these games, yes, but I never planned on volunteering. I planned even less on being reaped from the pool of girls from the fishing district. Wanting to be here is almost as dumb as the people who end up volunteering. Now my life depends on winning these games and, well, I never was the betting type.

Back at the bloodbath, I was the first to the cornucopia, scooping up supplies right and left. I really had no idea who was behind me; otherwise I would've hesitated before slashing violently at the girl from District 7 with a machete. I remember her falling, how she didn't even scream, just crumpled to the ground and lay there dying while I held the weapon that ended her life. It was all I could do not to vomit. I ran through the clearing where we started and headed to the woods immediately, guilt following me as no tribute possibly could. I crouch down and open my pack, trying to shake the dead girl from my mind.

My high expectations are met when I see my bounty. The medium black pack from the very mouth of the cornucopia holds a silver thermos made of some type of altered, Capitol metal. I've been in the cold for hours now, but it is still warm to the touch. Besides the bottle, I find a large bag of dried beef, a coil of sleek wire, matches, some iodine, and another jacket. All of that, my machete and a wool blanket I snatched up help to put my mind at ease.

I wipe my bloody sword on a dense evergreen and wash what's left with snow as night sets in. The temperature starts to freefall downwards and I think to myself that probably everyone who isn't from 1, 2 or 4 is in for a very long night.

* * *

**Dawn Corto (District 6)**

The small beam of my flashlight leads my way through the free falling snow as I keep slowly heading up the mountain, surely leaving a trail of thick blood behind me. I was doing well, only going for a blanket and a handful of other small supplies, until the boy from District 1 shot me in the back as I turned and ran. His arrow pierced me just below the right shoulder blade and, god, it hurt. If he can't follow the blood that still flows freely, the tears and sluggish footprints I leave behind will surely attract him.

I think back to my mentor and mother's only advice to me: hide. That's how she won, how most tributes win if they aren't a career. She probably could've elaborated, given me some life saving tip that would push me through this nightmare and back home, but she was already on her way to a place far away, farther than even the Capitol's best hovercrafts could reach. Morphling was her choice of transportation there.

I stumble over the frost touched rocks and lose it completely, falling to the ground and whimpering in pain. Pain from my disgusting wound and where my head hit the ground but especially from the hole where a loving mother should rest. Snow starts to pile on top of me, a hoary grave six feet too shallow.

I can't do it, I-I just can't. It's cold, so dang cold and no one cares about my life anyways. In fact, I'm just thinking about how long it would take me to die right on that patch of ice when I hear it- a sponsor gift! Right now I was probably receiving some life saving medicine or drink and I know my mother has not given up on me. Snow whips me in the face as I rise to my knees. I turn and see my parachute. It doesn't bring me medicine or food or even a pair of gloves; it brings death.

The boy who shot me walks forward with an ally close behind him, snow whipping his ashen hair. I know what's coming, but my legs are too frozen, my back too sore, and his smooth, confident features too sure to do anything but continue to kneel before him. I'm helpless as he pulls another dark arrow from the sheath on his back and sets it in his bow. He stops a few feet away from me to take me in, the powerful hawk circling a lowly field mouse. The tall boy behind him shifts his feet impatiently and that sneer-faced boy he lets his arrow fly.

The pain is unimaginable. I live long enough to feel him rip the arrow from my neck and see a cascade of crimson blood pour out of me. I hope my mother's sunken, vacant eyes watch her only daughter die.

* * *

_Boom! There goes another one. With 15 tributes left to fight for the crown, who do you think will win? Please give me suggestions guys! 'Til next time._


	5. Peanut Butter-Chapter 3

_Enjoy! Sorry for the wait._

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**Roxanne Wilder (District 3)**

The boom of a cannon momentarily wakes me from my half slumber. Disoriented and confused, I sit up and look around from my tree perch. _Just a cannon, _I think to myself. Normally I can sleep through anything. Whether it be the sound of a Capitol bound train a mere five minute walk away from my house or the endless tirades of my younger siblings, I never lose an ounce of sleep, but that's changed, I guess.

Back home, everything is different. I say "hello" to nearly everyone at lunch and genuinely mean it; here, any person I encounter could mean my death, or equally as scary, theirs. I think of my work station at work, painted a happy old yellow with a dull-plate reading my own name. I help to manufacture the speakers in most of Panem's endless number of video screens and televisions, but that's not what I want to do forever. I wanted to be a digital programmer, creating holographic images of all sorts. Weaving endless wires, soldered miniscule silicon wafers, and telling electronic devices what to do and how to do it; that's where I belong.

But now that's a pipe dream at best.

I suppose I should have seen it coming. Things were going too well for me and I guess fate just couldn't help but take her frustrations out on me. Yes, my two small brothers and 15 year old sister led me to take out an extra tesserae to help provide while my mother was off having fun with her "friends" and playing "Roxy Homemaker" was dreadful, but my shining grades and successes at work were just too great.

I try my best not to blame the situation on my mother for choosing the company of other men over her own children's needs, but a part of me, the part that can't get over her selfishness, knows that I am here because of her.

I flick a stray strand of my nearly white hair out of my eyes and try to push these negative thoughts somewhere safe and quiet. Now just isn't the time nor the place. By now it's early morning and the snow has piled nearly four whole inches over night. I have a backpack of meager survival supplies as well as a bit of food, but my pride and joy comes in the form of the heated blanket I cuddled all through the night. It provides both physical heat and souvenir from home in the form of the electrical wiring I know is inside of it. I never thought a polyester cover could make me feel so safe and sound.

But a pressing problem is making itself very known to me and, after nearly an hour of fighting, I reluctantly give in. I unenthusiastically climb from my almost-cozy resting place and slip into a clump of bushes to relieve my angry bladder. A minute or two later, all is right in my little corner of the world. I turn towards my tree thinking of breakfast and-

that's when I see her.

My first reaction is to blush profusely at the messy-headed blond girl in front of me. She seems equally as awkward, caught watching me doing my business, but I see she holds a knife in her left hand. We stay frozen, much like the arena, for what feels like hours, neither wanting to make a move. I try to take stock of her. She is wearing a hunter green anorak with a grey-fur lined hood as well as a small bag. To call it a back pack is too generous; it is just a sack with two shoe lace-like straps wrapped around her shoulders. There are dark circles under her muddy eyes and I guess she must have stayed up all night. There's also a small, bloody slash on one of her shins. I place her freckly visage as that of the 17 year old from District 8. I stare and wait for this stranger to do something.

The Capitol must be beside themselves with the embarrassing situation we're in. They'll probably have inside jokes about this by supper.

"Um," she starts quietly. "Sorry." She seems to be waiting for me to do something as well.

"It's fine," I muster up. "I have three siblings so I'm used to a lack of privacy. And bathroom space."

More waiting. My stomach lets out a contemptuous growl and the girl lifts the corners of her mouth just the tiniest bit. I feel myself relax slightly. The girl is like me, I think. Just another victim of an angry fate-driven entity. Not her fault that we're here in the woods murdering one another.

Finally, she slowly stows her knife into her belt and gently pulls a pack of half eaten crackers from her pocket. She hands them up to me, willing me to cross the ten foot distance between us and accept her peace offering. After a moment, I do. I delicately place one on my tongue and am greeted with a burst of nutty glop.

"Thanks," I say, throat full of delicious goo.

"Yeah," she responds, a real smile on her face now. "My name is Genevieve." I can't help but smile back at my new friend.

"I'm Roxanne."

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_I had fun writing something cute for once. The next chapter is on its way very soon and I'll be back to my butcher ways! Review n' what not._


	6. Snarl - Chapter 4

_I think this story is starting to turn out pretty great, but then again, I guess I'm pretty biased._

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The end of day two greets the tributes with a flurry of snow, wind, and freezing temperatures. Every tribute feels the chill, even the well supplied ones. Some tributes hide in small mountain caves, some in survival tents while others still clutch hold of blankets and turn their back to the wind, teeth chattering. The anthem plays and the face of the girl from District 6 shines in the sky. The night drags on and on…

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**Draise Kingen (District 8)**

My large steps make crunching noises as I continue on my snowy trek, alone except for my foggy breath. The godforsaken weather has just started to let up and I want to make the most of it. I travel down the snowy mountain into the slowly rising tree trunks, using the nearly full moon to light my way. It's too open and cold to survive at such high altitudes. While the seclusion of the mountain lured me initially, I know the forest is the safer option. I had traveled directly up all the first day like an idiot, but now I make my way down into the welcoming arms of wood at a diagonal, sure to keep heading away from the cornucopia. The lethal pack is certain to be stationed somewhere around the starting point, morons usually are. I mentally roll my eyes.

I cross from the sparse mountain trees into the night shadows of the forest and the mounds of concrete-snow are transformed to a measly carpet. Now safely under cover of the canopy of trees, nearly all moon light is extinguished, but after a few minutes my eyes adjust to the dim light. I'm absolutely exhausted and quite literally starving. I carry with me an axe made of solid silver from the very mouth of the cornucopia, a thick sweater with the hood pulled tight around my wavy brown hair and a canteen clipped to my belt. I risked my life to get the axe, so I couldn't afford to stick around for the choice supplies too. I need to find something to eat soon or it's likely I'll keel over, and since no sponsors are forthcoming, I'm going to have to find it myself. Not like I expected any Capitol imbeciles to take a liking to me. I mean, I smashed the head of that 12 year old boy from 9 to get my weapon, but it won't be in the Hunger Game's record book.

I travel for a while before finding a bush of small berries tucked away under a pair of firs and delicately examine them. I deem them good to eat and I can't stop myself from swallowing a handful without chewing. Not a five star meal but I am not really in a position to complain.

A half hour later, the pocket of my gray jacket filled with the rather bland fruit and my stomach is nearly satisfied. "Shut up…" I mumble as it gurgles for more. I've been this hungry before a handful of times. Usually when my drunk of an uncle borrows money from my parents or after a conveyor belt malfunctions and we can't afford the moldy bread so many live off of back home in District 8. My home is apartment number two-one-one in Living Building five, across the stinking river from a dying factory. Every single day I have a five hour shift there. It's a lot of boring and meaningless work for little pay, but if I didn't work my fingers to the bone on the conveyor belts, I wouldn't ever eat. Even our scraggily black and white cat, nicknamed Tux, works hard at de-mousing our building.

I didn't like my District before I was reaped, but it seems like heaven compared to this hellish hole. Even The Capitol, a shining city of colored glass and circus acts is repulsive. I miss the good and boring and horrendous textile district. Someone there probably made the clothes I'm wearing, hell, I could have-

_Snap! _

A noise from behind me brings me back to reality and I turn, axe swinging over my shoulder like a professional athlete. Too late to do anything, I am helpless as a strong hand hits me in the face before I can do anything. I see stars and stumble. The hands owner makes a desperate swipe for my axe, but I have enough sense to send my left elbow flying into their face. She stumbles back, hand on her nose and I readjust the grip on my weapon's handle. She's fast though, this girl, and between the dim light and her speed, my otherwise fatal horizontal chop cuts nothing but air. She punches me square in the jaw and I know where she is. I take a hold of her exposed red-hair and bring her already broken nose down hard on my knee. She yelps and drops to the ground. I stand above her raising my axe, but in a flash she kicks my groin and we're both on the ground.

My axe flies away, disturbing the snow while my body processes the agony. My eyes open and the girl from District 9, dark blood dripping out of her nostrils, is crawling towards the silver weapon ten feet away. I roll and manage to grab one of her legs.

She lets loose an indignant cry and kicks me in the face with her other foot. I howl and swear and my grip slackens. She shakes me off and wildly dives for my axe. I'm on her right as she reaches it. We scrabble and claw and she even makes to head butt me, but we're at a stale mate. We roll on the snowy ground, neither of us able to best the other or manage a firm grip on the chopping tool. I am taller, but she is visibly better fed and has muscle on her bones. Then a blur of white shoots past us. She screams and I look at who threw the snowball.

Only it's not a snowball.

It's a small, white dog that comes up to about the bottom of my knee. It's very feline in its thin torso and spindly legged stance, but the pointed nuzzle exhaling foggy breath marks it as some type of wolf or fox or dog at the very least. It's fur is mostly a silvery white but runs of gray accent its pristine fur and curved claws and teeth adorn it's paws and mouth respectively. It smiles sinisterly at us and lets out a growl much too low for its body. Then more arrive.

At least ten of these mutts creep from the trees and bushes and even out the end of a fallen log. All skulk to catch up to their mutt brother, threatening growls and numbers growing in intensity. District 9 and I scramble to our feet eyeing the beasts. We back away together, both prioritizing the Gamemakers as a bigger threat to our safety. Her nose still drips blood and I'm panting from our tussle. I don't know if we could fight these things, leaving us only one other option: run.

I turn and bolt a second before she does, but she's right next to me as a swoop up my fallen axe. Growls and small roars rip from the mutt's throats behind us, too close for comfort. 9 grabs my shoulder and urges me to speed up. We run for a minute and burst into a small clearing when she yells.

"Look out!" She shrieks. I feel claws dig into my back and slip on an icy patch of ground. When my back meets the ground, I feel the dog's body break beneath my slight frame. I hear the girl scream in pain and fear as a fox bites her calf. She falls and, before I know it, I'm kicking its face as hard as I can over and over again. It's skull broken, it finally releases her. I pull District 9 up and drag her away as the rest of the pack rips into the clearing, ready for war.

I guess we're in this together now.

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_Dun duuuuuun! Review and let me know what you're thinking. 'Til next week!_


	7. Queen Bee - Chapter 5

_Since we've only heard from about half the tributes left, I thought an overall update was called for. Happy Hunger Games!_

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Carl Rattegin - Gamemaker's Control Room

I gingerly place an anti-sleeping pill on my tongue and chase it down with sweet coffee still hot from the pot. Half of the Gamemakers sit at their various stations. Some type down weather commands, another scribbles notes in a little black note book and another yet speaks quietly on the phone. All trying to find something to do in the dull hours of the morning. The rest of the team sleeps soundly in the Resting Room. I myself had just relieved my second in command, Hort-Ray Smithens, and he shuffles his thick frame out of the automatic doors. I watch him enviously for a moment before sitting at the head control station.

The games have been going well up to this point, but the crowds in the Capitol are getting antsy. They want death and, as the head executioner, I must give it to them. I log into the console and see the time; 11:56. I see a 3D geographical map of the arena with small numbered blips, each representing a tribute, and notice the close proximity between a pair. _This is new, _I think.

"Marla," I call. Her dark features snap from her half-finished crossword to meet my gaze. "Ready a cannon." She types quickly into her keyboard and hawk-eyes the vital signs of every tribute in the arena. Every other Gamemaker rises to action, a flurry of bees obeying the demands of their queen, and the forty-foot tall main screen lights up with live footage of the frosty forest. The wily tributes engage each other and exchange heavy blows.

"Finally…" someone mutters. I can't help but silently agree. The lack of action had bored everyone to tears.

Just as the clock strikes twelve on the third day, the bandy-legged canines at the edge of the woods catch the scent of fighting humans. The two tributes, one being the boy from District 8 and the other the girl from District 9, have entered their designated territory. We watch the battle between man and mutt continue on for half an hour before calling back the remaining beasts. The pair of tributes, although not terribly skilled, are resilient and fight for their lives. They both sustain reasonably light injuries. I decide that it has been enough and, when they run deeper into the woods, the pack does not follow. Where excitement had clouded the air moments before, disappointment hangs heavily. Marla goes back to her crossword puzzle.

"Full update," I command in a clear voice. More keystrokes from a worker bee.

The scene switches to that of the closest tribute; the girl from 11. She fled to the mountain with her little supplies and made a home for herself in a cave halfway to the summit. She lays next to a small fire, teeth chattering and curled up as tightly as possible under a small blanket. The temperature at that level reads well below freezing, but she is at least protected from the wind.

Similarly, the boy from District 12 lays unconscious in a clump of bushes just north of the cornucopia. He is nursing an ugly wound in his shoulder and has lost a lot of blood. His mentor works diligently trying to gather enough money to send him a healing salve, but not many want to give money to the nearly comatose tribute.

The girl from District 10 travels farther and farther south in the direction of a great, dark lake. She has been resourceful and melts snow for fresh water to quench her thirst. She doesn't stop to rest, probably in search of some sort of food source. She seems in good condition, but her eyes droop from fatigue and she has no weapons. Little does she know, the career pack creeps forward no more than a mile away. If they continue in the direction they're headed in, they will find her footprints before the light snow conceals them.

Having already found that same lake, the girl from District 4 slumbers lightly under the concealing lower branches of a snow covered evergreen just off shore. She clutches her machete and mumbles as she sleeps, having spent the day fishing small trout with a homemade hook. Everyone hopes the next confrontation leads to violence, since the last two spurned unlikely alliances. Seeing allied tributes interact can be entertaining, but the last tribute death was just over twenty-four hours ago and the Capitol is becoming restless due to the lack of slayings. If no fight occurs today, we will intervene.

The boy and girl tributes from District 1 guard their group's bounty near the cornucopia, but both tributes from 2 as well as the 4 boy travel cautiously in the dark. They each have torches, weapons and search diligently for prey. They are among the favorites to win.

Back near the cornucopia, the alliance between the District 3 and 8 females has taken an interesting turn. They had been spying on the pack earlier in the night and, after traveling for several hours, briefly start to discuss some sort of trap to snare their stronger foes. However, unbeknownst to the girls, the boy from District 6 eavesdrops in a tree close at hand. Though the wind howls around the cluster of tributes, the smaller, hungry boy with only a coat listens intently. One Gamemaker keeps a steady watch on this situation while another watches the careers.

The only other tribute left in the game is the boy from District 7 who is far east. He has been almost comfortable in the dense wood for the past few days and sleeps soundly in a small tent with a belly full of berries and water. His only from of defense is a knife he keeps with him. The redhead knows how to survive, but a cold front is scheduled to arrive and he will be the first to feel its chill.

So far, so good. I take another sip of delicious, caffeinated coffee and call for the latest odds. Our statistician, nicknamed "Fry" for his pin-straight golden hair, clicks his screen and the forty-foot main video screen shows a plain white background with each tribute's district, gender, and current chances of winning. Fry takes the tribute's health, physical capabilities, supplies, kill list, allies, and popularity among the Capitol citizens into consideration. He updates it every hour on the hour.

I observe it for a moment before delving back into my cup. _Yes,_ I think. _So far, so good._

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_Head over to my profile to see each tributes odds! As always, review, review, review! The more attention this story gets, the more encouraged this author will be to update quickly! Also, don't forget that you have the power to change the game. I will decide on a victor when we get to the Final 8, but I am more inclined to crown a crowd favorite! Who do you want to win?_


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